The audience roared in fervor—a frenzied mob drawn by the spectacle of heavyweight brown bears engaging in no-holds-barred brawls, indulging their bloodlust in unrestrained violence.

“Another KO! A perfect takedown!”

The crowd's excitement boiled over.

“Let us present the championship belt to our Kamchatka brown bear contender—Ivan!

 The surroundings blurred, as if viewed through a detached, third-person perspective.

“Ivan’s hands are strong; they always make me feel safe.”

Who had said that to me? I can’t quite remember. All I could vaguely recall was the warmth of those small palms. Even at a young age, that tiny hand nestled in my massive paw had felt extraordinarily small.

I rarely revisit what happened afterward. Being brought into this world as a weapon, shaped into a sharp and destructive force, seemed inconsequential in the grand scheme.

How many years had I drifted aimlessly in this blood-soaked coliseum? It probably wasn’t long, yet it felt like a lifetime. I had lost the will to live early on; my very existence had always been merely to fulfill ambitions I could never understand.

Every animal told me how perfectly I’d been crafted—a weapon that needed only to be wielded, not to possess life or will. Being so overwhelmingly powerful, I had never imagined that any beast could free me from this wretched fate. That was, until I met the god.

Among the chaotic, blurred memories of my past, this one remained crystal clear. I no longer recall the exact year—it was during one of Motherland’s campaigns to extend its influence over East Asia. To achieve its goals, it had collaborated with a fascist group.

Our squad lay in ambush beneath a designated negotiation building—a trap set for a gray wolf. To avoid alerting him to our presence through his extraordinary sense of smell, the plan was to storm the room after a concealed bomb detonated.

The bomb, an ingeniously crafted device by specialists, was reputed for its flawless disguise and elusiveness, defying all detection methods. Many animals found it hard to believe that the bomb’s maker was a gazelle. But I understood well how the underestimated strength of herbivores could surprise us.

When the bomb detonated, we rushed to the designated floor, breaking down the door. Inside, we found only two charred lion carcasses and a large hole in the wall. The commander received some message over the radio and kept shouting commands. But then, as if in slow motion, I watched the walls, floor, and ceiling crack and the entire building collapse. Screams filled the air, bodies struggled amidst the falling debris, and then everything went dark.

When I emerged from the rubble, pushing aside slabs of cement, I saw him—the gray wolf, his eyes gleaming in the pitch-black night.

Fear—a sensation entirely new to me. I had never experienced such an emotion. At that moment, I realized that this was the power capable of freeing me, the god who could fulfill my wish.

I roared my challenge and charged at him, but the gray wolf didn’t even flinch. He merely tilted his head. Then I collapsed, choking and gasping, the world plunging into darkness.

I survived for an ironically absurd reason.

A retrieval team from Motherland found me, extracted me from the ruins, and treated my injuries. Once I recovered, I left the camp. After annihilating every animal that tried to stop me and killing all the retrieval teams Motherland sent, they finally got the message—I wasn’t coming back.

Having encountered the god who could grant my wish, I could no longer bear this aimless existence. But my logical faculties and sanity had deteriorated to the point where I couldn’t track down that terrifying gray wolf. All I could do was linger here, in a lawless death match arena, where the highest probability of liberation from this tragic state might be found.

Yet, every opponent was so fragile—like eggs that cracked under the slightest force. I didn’t blame them. In front of a weapon like me, designed solely for slaughter, strength, skill, and courage were meaningless.

But just now, I felt it—the gaze piercing through the crowd. For a moment, my consciousness cleared, and fear reignited my capacity to think, to fight for my life, or to flee. God, have you come to grant my wish?

“I’ve already seen my life flash before my eyes. Isn’t it about time you took the stage?” This was the prayer offered before sacrifice. I stood in the center of the hexagonal iron cage. The audience had long since dissipated; I had lost the ability to sense the passage of time. A gray wolf, clad only in shorts, walked onto the stage.

The terror was unmistakable. Even in the way he walked, death followed him like a shadow.

“So, you’ve come for a fair duel to end my life? Truly merciful of you!” I had never seen such a robust gray wolf—solid and agile, a weapon as dangerous as I was. “I know what you’re looking for. It’s all over the black boxes.”

What’s a black box?

I tugged at my necklace. It was something I had taken from the body of a base administrator. I vaguely understood it contained secrets Motherland wouldn’t want exposed, but I no longer had the intellect to use it.

“This is my offering to you. Please answer the prayer of a fanatic like me.” I charged forward, swinging my right fist at him. What I had hoped for was to be destroyed instantly by overwhelming power, but I noticed that today’s gray wolf was slightly different from the one I had encountered before.

How should I put it? Ah, a different caliber. The fact that I could still make such an observation impressed me with my remaining intellect.

The gray wolf dodged with minimal movement, letting my fist graze his cheek, and as my momentum carried me forward, he closed the gap, landing a heavy punch beneath my right ribs. The sharp pain of shattering bones would have felled any ordinary animal, but that was his miscalculation.

The instant he saw I could still counterattack, his pupils widened in surprise—a sight that brought me a strange satisfaction. But his movements were too fast. He retreated quickly, deflecting the force of my left punch with a deft tilt of his head. As the wolf and I regained our distance, his expression returned to its initial indifference. He then spat out two teeth that I had broken.

“This reflex speed is absurd. Just who are y—” Ah, that scent. “You’re a hybrid, aren’t you?” That peculiar tang of blood in the air unlocked long-suppressed memories. The gray wolf silently watched me, remaining alert but unresponsive.

“I know about it,” I said. Did I really? “That’s how I was created—to fuse the predatory strength of carnivores with the acute danger senses and agility of herbivore, in hopes of creating the ultimate warrior.” I remembered now—the Chimera Project.

"My mother, miraculously, gave birth to a healthy version of me—no, I should say, at least a relatively functional version of me. Oh, you really should have seen the rejected specimens: bodies too small to contain their oversized organs, claws and teeth so massive they pierced their own skin."

The scent of herbivore and carnivore blood mixed together lingered in the air.

How did I know?

"There were also those with brain too small for their oversized skulls," I said, pointing to my own head.

"Having all the internal organs mirrored in position was the least of the issues. When I reached a certain age, my mother was forcibly impregnated again. This time, the miracle didn’t happen. Have you ever seen a small creature try to give birth to a large animal fetus, only to die in labor? And to make it even more ironic, the scientists of Motherland prioritized saving my brother’s life first, only to discard him early when they discovered he was another failure."

As I recalled those scenes of hell playing out in the world of the living, I continued, "It was then I became sure—there are no gods in this world. Or if there are, they are exceedingly cruel and possess a morbid sense of humor."

I brushed aside the fur on my left chest, revealing a scar.

"Until that day, when I encountered the force willing to liberate me from this tragedy, I finally realized gods do exist—and they answer prayers! If my heart were in its normal position, it would’ve been sliced open right then and there, and I would’ve died on the spot. But because of this malformed body, I only suffered a pneumothorax and lost consciousness. Since then, I’ve prayed continuously to that powerful existence. And today, he sent you to carry out his will—to correct the mistake that is me!"

You smell of divinity, gray wolf. But what kind of herbivore blood is that scent?

"Just a failed specimen begging a completed one for a shred of mercy—please tell me, is this blasphemous experiment still ongoing? Is it because you’ve been chosen by the gods that you have no flaws?"

The base’s administrators once told me I was so fortunate to merge the traits of two powerful species. No, open your eyes and look—this is what true divine blessing and fortune look like!

"Sorry, that’s classified," the gray wolf said flatly.

Fine, so be it. I could feel my consciousness slipping away.

"Let’s end this," I said, throwing a full-force right punch.

But the gray wolf didn’t dodge. He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

The moment my fist struck his forehead, blood erupted from the center of his brow, splattering across the fur around his eyes and nose. Intense pain surged through my right hand—I realized then that every bone in my fingers and palm had shattered.

He had taken the blow with his solid skull, exploiting the fragility of my hand to force an opening. When he opened his blue eyes, I knew it was over.

The gray wolf broke my right arm from both the upper and lower sides in a swift motion. He darted into my side and landed a precise strike to the correct position of my liver. The unbearable pain left me momentarily paralyzed.

But he didn’t stop. With incredible speed, he kicked my left calf from the side, the force so great that both my feet left the ground. I was flipped upside down, head pointed toward the ground.

When the back of my head struck the earth, there was a sharp pain in my neck. I knew my windpipe and spinal cord had snapped under the weight of my own body.

Ah, so this is the end?

The gray wolf stood over me, his azure eyes staring down at me. His face was covered in crimson blood, dripping down toward me as though he were crying for me.

What’s this? Pity? So, even the cruel and merciless gods can show this kind of expression.

"Ivan’s hands are strong. They always give me a sense of reassurance."

Ah, Mother, you once said that to me, didn’t you? The small hands of a rabbit—they were reassuring to me too.

I’m sorry—for being a failure, for being born as a hybrid in this world.